


In Vino Veritas

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_holidays, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post - Deathly Hallows, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say weddings are the perfect occasion for bringing together family and friends; but what about old enemies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Noeon as part of hd_holidays fest over on Livejournal, and was beta'd into shape by the wonderous Nursedarry

Harry wasn't clock watching. Not really. He just happened to glance in its direction as the end of his shift rolled around. Not that he needed to see the clock to know it was late – his body had been telling him that for the last two hours. But unfortunately Dark wizards were never considerate enough to schedule their wrong-doings during office hours.

The desk opposite him was empty; Ron had escaped some time ago. _Lucky bastard._ Harry shut off the light, cast his strongest wards over the door – you could never be too careful – and made his way quickly to the Atrium.

Minutes later he emerged from his living room Floo with a sigh of relief. Scarlet robes were tossed carelessly onto the nearest arm chair – after all, Harry reasoned, it wasn't like he'd need them for the next fortnight. Besides, Kreacher was sure to pick them up at some point.

Wanting nothing more than food and bed – in that order – Harry made his way to the kitchen. Delicious smells filled his nostrils as soon as the door opened and Harry couldn't help but inhale deeply.

"Kreacher, I love you," he muttered.

In pride of place on the table was a large plate, piled high with the house-elf's speciality stew and dumplings. Harry's mouth watered at the sight.

He ended the Warming Charm with a negligible flick of his hand and sank gratefully into the nearest seat. The first forkful produced an almost erotic-sounding moan – Kreacher's stew was so good it was enough to set Molly Weasley crying into her saucepans.

Barely three mouthfuls in and already longing for his bed, Harry heard the Floo chime. He swore colourfully. There were very few people who had unfettered access to his Floo – when he was stupid enough not to lock it down – and with how tired he felt right now, Harry could only hope it wasn't—

"Hermione, what a surprise."

"Didn't Ron pass on the message?" Hermione slipped into the chair opposite, placing her bag on the table with a rather loud thud.

Harry looked askance at the bag – wondering, not for the first time, if his friend carried house bricks around with her. He took another mouthful of stew, chewed rapidly, then asked "Message?"

Hermione's nose wrinkled slightly, but to Harry's relief didn't launch into a lecture on table manners. "I dropped by your office earlier," she explained. "You were in with Kingsley, apparently."

Harry nodded; he figured it was better to swallow before speaking this time. "I was just catching him up on a few things before my holiday."

Hermione smiled. "You do know they'll survive without you. You're good, Harry, but not indispensible."

Harry swallowed the pointed retort on the tip of his tongue. "What was it you wanted?"

"Sorry?"

"The message?" Harry replied, smiling to himself as he noticed Hermione's gaze drift towards his dinner. "You said you gave Ron a message for me?"

Hermione gave herself a tiny shake. "Oh yes, that. It was just to let you know I'd be popping round after work." She stopped for a moment, her eyes heading back to Harry's plate. "Kreacher's been cooking again?"

Harry nodded around another mouthful. "I think there's some more on the hob if you want some."

"No." The shake of her head set her curls dancing. "I shouldn't."

Harry couldn't help but smile; he knew damn well that Hermione would love a plate, but that the days of S.P.E.W. were not so far behind that she'd allow herself to eat the fruits of _slave labour_.

"Not that it's not always lovely to see you, but we're about to spend a whole week together; what's so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Packing," Hermione replied succinctly and sat forward in her chair.

"What about it?"

"Have you done it?" Hermione may not have actually rolled her eyes, but it was implied in her tone nonetheless.

Harry swallowed his food and shook his head. "I'll do it in the morning," he replied. "It won't take long."

"Honestly." Hermione huffed. "You can't just _throw_ things in at the last minute."

Harry shrugged. "'S'what I normally do, and it's never been a problem so far."

Hermione shook her head. "But you're bound to forget something, and all your clothes will be creased."

What Harry really wanted to do was point out that was what house-elves were for. However, he had enough Slytherin self-preservation in him to hold his tongue. Instead, he pushed his half-finished plate away, regretfully, and sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I'm trying to help, Harry. You could try not to make it sound like I'm torturing you."

Seeing his early night fly out the nearest window, Harry chose the path of least resistance. "Come on, then." He stood and held out his hand.

Hermione said nothing further and Harry ignored the brief flicker of victory in her eyes. She just put her hand in his and let herself be pulled to her feet.

*

Kreacher had thoughtfully dug out one of Harry's trunks and deposited it in the middle of his bed – piles of neatly ironed clothing surrounded it.

Harry heaved a deep sigh and tried not to look at the clock. He looked, instead, at Hermione, who appeared to be waging an inner battle between her approval of Kreacher's organisational skills, and her natural instinct to object to all elf-related labours.

"Right." Hermione turned on her heel and scanned the room. "Where's your list?"

Even as he opened his mouth to speak Harry knew he was about to give the wrong answer. "I don't have one." It came out as almost a question.

A brief expression of horror flitted across Hermione's face – as if a world without lists was too painful to imagine. "Never mind," she said, heaving her bag onto the bed and rummaging through its contents. "I've got a pad in here somewhere."

Harry half expected her to produce the kitchen sink at one point, but finally Hermione emerged triumphant, spiral notepad in hand.

"Okay," she said, perching daintily on a clear section of duvet. "What we need to do first is break the list down into days. That way we can make sure you have an outfit for every possible occasion."

"I am quite capable of dressing myself, you know." Harry didn't really think it would make a difference, but he had to at least try.

Hermione didn't answer. Instead she turned around and just _looked_ at him.

"Don't you have your own packing to do?"

Hermione's look was incredulous at best. "It's done already. Now, I can't see your dress robes anywhere. Please tell me they're clean?"

"They're in the wardrobe." The doors swung open at the faintest twitch of Harry's fingers and Hermione quickly had a lap full of finest silk.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." Hermione put down her pad and began settling the folds of fabric carefully. "Your magic isn't a toy."

Harry kept his expression neutral; he really didn't want to be having this conversation again – not now, anyway. "There's only you and me here. I don't do it in public, you know that."

"But still." Hermione pursed her lips together, but didn't say anything further. Instead she flipped the lid open on Harry's trunk and began placing articles of clothing _just so_ inside.

"I bet Ron could probably do with some help with his packing," Harry suggested hopefully – from the looks of things, this was going to take them all night.

Hermione didn't even look up. "I've already spoken to Molly," she said primly. "It's all under control. Pass me your pyjamas, please."

Harry gave a soft sigh – there really was no way out of it. He reached behind him for the new pyjamas Kreacher had insisted he purchase. 

"I'm really looking forward to the break," Hermione admitted. "The scenery on Skye is meant to be spectacular, so I've read."

Harry's lips twitched a little. "You've been researching?"

Hermione gave him a look in return that clearly said _silly question_. "We're there for a whole week. The Handfasting isn't until next Saturday, so we'll need to keep ourselves occupied in the meantime."

" _We_?" Harry asked with a sinking heart

"Yes, Harry," Hermione replied with exaggerated patience. "You and me."

"How come Ron's getting out of it?" Harry saw his relaxing week rapidly vanishing in a mixture of rigid excursions and long-winded educational talks.

The faintest of scowls crossed Hermione's face and she crammed a pair of Harry's shoes rather forcefully into the trunk. "He's taking Parkinson."

Hermione's reaction to Ron's recent romance with Pansy Parkinson never failed to amuse Harry. It was silly, really. Hermione dumped Ron shortly after leaving Hogwarts, and Harry was certain she didn't want him back. So what he couldn’t decide was if her attitude was one of _dog in a manger_ or if it was just a left-over dislike from their schooldays. Either way, Hermione was clearly not letting go of it any time soon.

Harry let the moment pass – because there was no real way he could respond to that. In the last month he had met Pansy a few times, and Harry was sure that the last thing Hermione wanted to hear right now was that another of her best friends had been won round by a woman she so clearly disliked. Instead, he crossed the room and rummaged in the back of the wardrobe for his broom.

"Oh." Hermione's face dropped at the sight of the Firebolt. "You're taking _that_ with you?"

Harry gave Hermione his own _silly question_ look. "I hardly ever get the chance to fly anymore," he replied. "And according to Charlie, Oliver's arranged for us to borrow the stadium one day, so we can have a proper game."

"You're not afraid of being shown up by Malfoy?" Hermione asked slyly. "Even Ron has to admit he's good these days – and you know how much that must kill him."

Harry paused for a moment. "Malfoy," he said thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten he'll be there."

"Of course you did," Hermione replied disbelievingly. Then she picked up her bag from the bed. "I assume you can manage to pack these last few things."

Harry nodded, rightly assuming no actual response was required. 

"Then I'll see you in the morning," Hermione said. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Night," Harry replied absently, his mind busy working out how quickly he could get under the duvet. "And thanks."

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "Don't be late."

**********

Clearly Hermione's objection to using house-elves did not extend as far as her giving Kreacher a strict alarm call for Harry the next morning. Thus, he found himself dressed, fed, and fully-packed in plenty of time for departure.

Thankful Hermione wasn't around to lecture him again, Harry placed his palm on his trunk and murmured a few words. He then picked up the shrunken object, slipped it into his pocket, and turned towards the Floo.

It was hectic at the Burrow when Harry arrived. Not that it was ever a haven of peace and tranquillity, but it seemed unusually manic. But then, Harry supposed, the impending nuptials of their son or brother was likely to do that to a family.

There were Weasley offspring everywhere – children and grandchildren – and Molly Weasley had never seemed more in her element.

"Harry, you're here."

Harry turned in time to see Ron stride across the room towards him. 

"All packed?" Ron asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Harry glanced around quickly for Hermione before replying. "Bastard," he said good-naturedly. "You knew what she had planned and you didn't tell me."

Ron grinned. "I'm not daft, mate. If I'd have told you, you'd have locked your Floo, and then she'd have been over here _helping_ me instead." Ron paused and cast his own glance around the room. "And I already had Mum to contend with. You think Hermione's bad…" Ron gave a mock shudder.

Harry laughed. "I'll let you off in that case," he replied, and gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "This everyone?" he asked, with a nod to the room's other occupants.

Ron looked up. "Pretty much. Mum and Dad are stopping behind till later in the week. Dad says it's to _let us young 'uns have some fun before the old fogeys arrive._ "

Harry looked over to where Arthur Weasley was busily spinning his youngest granddaughter around. "I don't think the term _old fogey_ will ever quite apply to your parents."

"It's hard to imagine, isn't it," Ron agreed. "But I'm trying very hard not to think of any other reason they'd want some time alone." He shuddered again, for real this time. "Anyway, they're coming up on Thursday with Fleur and the kids. Angelina's off in Bulgaria somewhere on a summer Quidditch tour so she won't get there until the day of the ceremony. And the rest of us," Ron gave a casual wave of his hand, "are off in a minute."

"Where's Pansy?" Harry looked for a familiar dark head amongst the sea of red. "Don't tell you've fallen out again."

Ron shook his head with a rueful laugh. "Not this time. She went up yesterday; wanted to catch up with Malfoy."

"Ah. They're still close then?"

"Unfortunately." Ron grimaced. "Charlie says he's changed, that he's a decent bloke now, but..."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Hard to imagine isn't it? I never thought I'd see the day Malfoy was good friends with a Weasley."

"Honestly, you two."

Harry and Ron started in surprise; the noisy chatter of the Burrow had masked Hermione's arrival.

"The war ended a long time ago," Hermione continued, not giving them a chance to respond. "People change and you can't hold the mistakes they made as a child against them when they've grown up."

"Really?" Ron asked, and Harry could sense the undertone in his voice. "I'll remind you of that the next time you snub Pansy, shall I?"

"I said people _can_ change, Ronald. It doesn't mean that they _have_." She gave a quick toss of her hair, and Ron shot a sly look at Harry.

None of them had anytime to discuss this further, however, because Percy appeared in the kitchen clutching an old plant pot. 

"It's time, everyone," he called, still with that pompous edge to his voice even if his attitudes had shifted somewhat.

*

Harry felt his stomach drop with a sickening lurch. Even now, all these years later, the jolt of a Portkey still brought back unpleasant and vivid memories. And the fact that he still hadn't mastered the art of landing comfortably didn't help either.

This time was no exception. 

"Sure-footed as ever, I see, Potter." 

Harry recognised the voice even before he saw the face. He looked up reluctantly and was met by the grinning visage of Draco Malfoy. It was the first time he's seen his one-time rival up close since they'd left Hogwarts, and Harry was disconcerted to find that the passing years had been _very_ good to Malfoy.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," he said, with a small smile to take the sting away.

Malfoy smiled in return and it rendered his face unrecognisable. Of course, Harry had seen Malfoy smile before – though granted, not at him – but never with such openness, an almost complete lack of guile.

"It's good to see you again." Malfoy held out his hand in greeting.

Harry scrambled to his feet and gazed at the outstretched hand. If Malfoy was aware of the parallels of this moment he didn't show it. Rather than dwell on the past, Harry reached out and grasped his hand. 

"Welcome to Braeridge House." Malfoy indicated the house behind with a sweeping gesture of his free hand.

It took all of Harry's control not to just _gape_. House was hardly the word he would use to describe the building behind them; castle, seemed more appropriate. And with the numerous turrets dotted around the edges of the stately building, it put Harry in mind of the Scottish royal palaces he remembered from his Muggle history lessons.

What was even more disconcerting to Harry was that it was Malfoy, of all people, welcoming him. Harry cast a quick look over his shoulder to where the rest of the party were being greeted enthusiastically by Charlie and Oliver, only a few feet away. "Why are you here?" he asked abruptly.

Malfoy smirked a little and raised one eyebrow.

Harry flushed; he hadn't meant to be quite so blunt. "I mean, I know you live on the island, but I just hadn't expected you to be part of the welcoming party."

Malfoy stepped to one side, allowing Harry an unfettered view of the house beyond. "This is my home, Potter," he replied, the pride almost tangible in his words.

Harry's gaze travelled over the extensive buildings, to the manicured lawns with extravagant topiary, right down to the cliffs in the distance, and the crested waves of the sea beyond. He gave a slight shake of his head. "Why am I not surprised? You always were a flash sod."

Malfoy laughed – a warm, honeyed sound – and just as with the smile earlier, Harry found himself completely wrong-footed by this newly revealed side to the boy he had once despised.

"Monopolising Harry already, are you, Draco?"

Harry turned his head just as Oliver slung a friendly arm around his shoulder and grinned. "Harry, mate, good to see you. It's been way too long."

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," Harry replied with a quick smile. "Never thought I'd see the day _you_ settled down."

Oliver's eyes shifted to where Charlie stood chatting to his family. "What can I say –I'm a changed man."

"Weasley's got a knack for taming wild animals," Malfoy added with a wink, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.

Oliver obviously decided to ignore the reference to his rather interesting past. "Tell me you've brought your broom with you, Harry? It's about time someone wiped the smug grin of this one's face." He gave Malfoy a dig with his elbow.

"I didn't hear you complaining when we won the league." Malfoy gave a jab of his own, but didn't seem unduly offended. Another change from their schooldays, Harry noted.

"I've brought it," Harry replied. "I don't suppose I'll pose much of a threat to Malfoy's unbeaten record, though. I haven't flown competitively since Hogwarts."

"You'll be fine." Malfoy gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Flying a broom is like...well, flying a broom; you never forget." He paused here and raked his eyes appreciatively over Harry's body, head to toe. "And the Aurors are obviously doing a good job of keeping you fit."

Being starved of them for so long, Harry had never truly learnt to take a compliment well. But just as he opened his mouth to stammer some awkward reply, Malfoy saved him the trouble.

"I should probably go and check on the house-elves," he said casually, as if he hadn't just blatantly flirted with Harry. "They're a little excited at the prospect of so many guests; Merlin knows what we'll end up with for lunch."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode smartly across the stylish gardens. Harry did his best not to watch him go – the last thing he wanted was anyone thinking he was admiring Malfoy's rather pert arse. But the alternative was meeting the curious gaze that Harry could already feel boring into the side of his face, so it really was the lesser of the two evils.

**********

Flashy, Harry thought, there was no other word for it. Or, if there was, none sprang to mind at that moment.

Harry had been in his temporary bedroom for just short of an hour now, and he still couldn't quite believe the sheer opulence within. It wasn't what he'd expected – not that Harry had given much thought in the past the Malfoy's interior design, but still.

For starters the room was huge; it made Harry's bedroom at Grimmauld Place seem more like his old cupboard under the stairs. The floors were wooden, highly polished, and scattered at intervals with doubtless expensive rugs. The ceilings were high, the walls painted a vivid blue, and the cornicing throughout gilded with the brightest of gold. The windows, and there were several of those, were bays, set back from the room in alcoves, hidden by rich curtains of the deepest claret

The bed, Harry was quick to realise, was no ordinary bed. Barely had he lain down before it felt like hundreds of gentle fingertips were massaging away his every care. At this rate, Harry mused, he wouldn't want to go home at the week's end.

A knock at the door disturbed him, just as Harry's lashes fluttered closed. He toyed, for a moment, with the idea of ignoring it, of rolling over and luxuriating some more in that heavenly bed. 

At the second knock he stirred himself. Reluctantly. It occurred to him that he had no idea where his friends' rooms were, and his chances of finding them otherwise were remote.

Harry narrowly avoided slipping over on his path to the door, and made a mental note that socks and wooden floors were not a good mix. He just reached his destination in one piece when a more impatient rap sounded.

"Hold your horses," Harry grumbled. "I'm coming." Then he swung the door open to, once again, be greeted by the sight of Draco Malfoy.

"I apologise, Potter. Had I known how you were _occupied_ I would never have disturbed you."

Harry frowned a little and tried to work out what the hell Malfoy was on about. As his last words came back to him, Harry flushed involuntarily. "Wanker," he muttered, giving his best glare.

"Indeed," Malfoy agreed, his eyes practically dancing with amusement.

Harry shook his head but said nothing – he knew better than to indulge in a battle of wits. Instead, he took a moment to observe Malfoy, and was surprised to find that under his robes Malfoy actually sported Muggle clothing. Well-tailored and expensive clothing, certainly, but Muggle nonetheless.

If the Aurors had kept Harry in shape, then Quidditch had done wonderful things for Malfoy's body. The thin-knit of his jumper did little to disguise the leanly muscled torso beneath – and Harry suspected that was the intent all along. And his thighs, whilst not bulky, gave the impression of strength nonetheless – not that Harry was interested in the strength of Malfoy's thighs, of course.

Then Harry realised that he'd been quiet for too long. Malfoy was leaning against the door frame watching him, just the faintest hint of a smile quirking his lips. "Was there something you wanted?" Harry fought the rising blush on his cheeks.

Malfoy smiled lazily in a way that reminded Harry of a cat – possibly one who'd just had all the cream. "I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need."

That made sense, Harry thought; he was always hearing about these so-called pure-blood manners. But even his Muggle upbringing with the Dursleys had taught him to be polite. "Everything is fine, thank you," he said quickly. "Amazing in fact," he added, remembering the bed. "You really didn't have to go to so much trouble."

Malfoy pushed away from the doorframe. "You're a guest in my home, Potter. I would be remiss if I didn't see to your every need."

Harry couldn't tell whether this was another of Malfoy's innuendos or not – his face was carefully blank. "Well, thank you, then," he said, hoping that would be sufficient.

Malfoy nodded. "I also wanted to let you know that lunch will be served shortly in the dining room."

Harry's eyes dropped to his outfit – jeans and a t-shirt – _Dining room_ sounded awfully formal. "Will I be okay like this?" he asked uncertainly.

This time there was no mistaking Malfoy's intention. He raked his eyes blatantly over Harry's body, and then grinned, wolfishly. "More than okay," he said. Then with a quick wink, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the corridor. 

Harry was about to give up all pretence of _not_ watching his arse, when he was interrupted.

"Was he just _flirting_ with you?"

Harry wasn't sure whether he should be offended by Hermione's incredulity. "I doubt it," he admitted. "I'm hardly Malfoy's type." Then, as Harry realised how those words could be taken, he added, "He's probably just trying to unnerve me."

"Is it working?" Hermione asked, her tone all innocence.

Harry didn’t reply. He was too busy staring at Malfoy's retreating back with a perplexed expression on his face.

**********

Harry leaned back against the wall and let out a soft groan. That last helping of venison had been a bad idea – he'd known it at the time, but it was just too delicious to refuse – and now he was paying the price.

After the sumptuous meal, they had, at Malfoy's suggestion, retired to the drawing room. Though no connoisseur of beauty himself, Harry couldn't help but be continually charmed by a house where each room was more exquisite than the last. However, not even the embroidered silks or panelled walls of this room could compare to the sheer brilliance of the sunset that currently occupied Harry's attention. The horizon, burnished orange and gold under the setting sun, was just perfect. Harry snorted softly; knowing Malfoy and his perfectionist tendencies, he'd probably arranged the damn thing specially.

Tearing his eyes away for a moment, Harry took a quick glance around the room. He'd been in this house for less than twenty-four hours, but already Malfoy was confounding his expectations at every turn. The youth he'd known, despised even, had vanished, and in his place was a man Harry barely recognised. At that very moment he was standing by the fireplace, engaged in an apparently deep conversation with Hermione. She looked charmed. Traitor, Harry thought, somewhat childishly.

"Comes as a bit of a surprise, doesn't it?"

Harry's head snapped round just in time to see Charlie settle next to him in the window seat. "Sorry?"

"Draco," Charlie explained, with a nod in his direction.

"He's certainly..." Harry searched around for the right word, "different."

Charlie snorted. "You're as bad as Ron. Would it kill you to admit that he's changed?"

Harry stared at Charlie in surprise – for all the lightness of his tone, Harry sensed real irritation behind his words. And he was stung by the injustice. "I've already done that – and in front of the Wizengamot, too. Back when the rest of you wanted him sent to Azkaban, remember?"

Charlie had the grace to blush a little. "Sorry." He ran one hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly. "It wasn't anything personal. I just get a little defensive on his behalf sometimes. Especially as he rarely does it himself."

"It's okay." Harry's temper always cooled as quickly as it flared. "It's not that I don't see the changes, you know. I do...I did, but there's a lot of history between me and him, and it won't just go away over night."

Charlie placed his hand on Harry's thigh and squeezed briefly. "Fair enough. I suspect it's actually my little brother I should be having this conversation with anyway."

"Yeah, good luck with that." 

"Oh, I don't know," Charlie mused. "From where I'm sitting, he seems to be warming towards ex-Slytherins."

Harry's gaze drifted over to where Pansy Parkinson was practically sitting in Ron's lap. "Somehow I don't think Malfoy's his type."

Charlie barked out a laugh. "You're probably right," he added.

"I think he'll get there eventually," Harry said thoughtfully. "It's just...well, there's a lot more history between him and Malfoy. There's that whole family feud thing for starters."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "Not one of Dad's better moves, keeping it alive like that."

"I think he had a little help from Lucius in that respect, to be fair." It was a knee-jerk reaction of Harry's to defend his surrogate family – even against one of their own, it seemed.

"He's my best man, you know?"

"Who, Draco?" Harry looked a little stunned. "I didn't realise you two were that close."

Charlie nodded. "He helped out at the reserve. He was at a bit of a loose end after Hogwarts – people weren't exactly queuing up to employ a Malfoy – and we needed all the help we could get setting things up out here. It took a while, but he grew on me."

Harry resisted the temptation to make a _like fungus_ remark – somehow he didn't think Charlie would see the funny side. "I never realised he was that into dragons," he said instead.

"With a name like Draco?" Charlie snorted. "He's actually really good with them. I was gutted when Portree scouted him – lost my best handler that day. Not that I begrudge him the success," Charlie added quickly. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite as happy as he was that day."

"I can imagine," Harry murmured, and really he could, just a little.

"He's also the one that set me and Ollie up," Charlie continued, almost as if he hadn't heard.

Harry gaped at this piece of information. "Somehow, I can't quite see Malfoy as a match-maker," he said, his eyes drifting against his will in the direction of their subject.

"I suspect there's quite a lot you don't see where Draco's concerned," Charlie replied softly. "He's a good man."

Almost as if aware of the attention, Malfoy chose that moment to look over. His gaze locked with Harry's for the briefest of moments, before he turned his attention back to Hermione.

Harry gave himself a quick mental shake – something intense had passed between Malfoy and him in that short space of time, he knew that much, but Harry was a long way from acknowledging the hot coil of desire twisting in his belly. Instead he turned back to Charlie.

"So, nervous about married life yet?"

"Not in the slightest," Charlie looked so content, so sure, that Harry couldn't help the tiniest twinge of jealousy that stabbed at him, nor the nagging doubt that he'd ever find the same.

**********

Harry stifled a moan as he walked into breakfast on Monday morning. He'd left getting up as late as possible, but Hermione was still there, map spread in front of her as she poured over the various leaflets she'd procured from the Tourist Office the day before.

Harry had hoped that the previous day spent walking lengthy coastal paths would have been enough to satisfy her thirst for the time being, but apparently not. He was safe for the moment though, because it seemed she'd found a kindred spirit in Percy, whose head was already bent over said map with interest. Hermione glanced up and gave him a distracted smile, then returned to her leaflets.

Harry slid into a vacant seat next to Bill and began loading his plate.

"Hungry?"

Harry turned to see Bill eyeing him with amusement.

Harry nodded around a mouthful of black pudding, and then swallowed. "Starving. Must be all this sea air."

Bill smiled wryly. "Looks like you're in for some more of it today," he commented with a nod in Hermione's direction.

"Bet you can't wait, hey?" Ron sniggered from the relative safety of the other side of the table.

Harry groaned. "I'm glad my misery amuses you."

"Nothing personal, mate. Rather you than me, though." Ron's words were muffled by the mouthful of food he was currently chewing, but Harry had breakfasted with his best friend often enough that he understood perfectly.

"Don't be disgusting, Weasley." Pansy gave Ron a dig with her elbow, but the indulgent smile she gave him rather lessened the effect.

Harry smiled to himself. Ron's ex and his current girlfriend weren't all that dissimilar after all.

"If I were you, Potter, I'd make myself scarce." Pansy leaned across the table and kept her voice low. "I've heard some of what she's got planned for today."

Pansy didn't elaborate, but Harry winced at the implication of her words. He’d had enough experience of Hermione's enthusiasm to know the sorts of things she considered fun. He quickly swallowed another mouthful.

Ron nodded his agreement. "Leg it now, while Percy's keeping her busy," he advised, eyeing the remains of Harry's breakfast hopefully.

All of which sounded like a damn good idea to Harry. He gulped the last of his coffee and pushed his plate in Ron's direction – it was received gratefully.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage him," she complained. "He's enough of a greedy pig already." She turned to Ron. "Anyone would think you have hollow legs."

Harry just laughed at the contented look on his friend's face as he pushed his chair away from the table. "I'll catch you two later."

**********

With a suspicion that Hermione would not be put off that easily, Harry retreated to the one place he knew she would never think to look for him – the library.

Yet another impressive room to add to a long list of them, it had a high vaulted ceiling, wall-to-wall mahogany shelving, and enough leather-bound books to satisfy even his best friend's bookworm tendencies.

With a heavy sense of irony, Harry grabbed the first familiar book he saw from the shelves. Even if Hermione did find him now, her irritation at being avoided would doubtless be lessened by finding Harry curled up with _Hogwarts: A History._

Eschewing the more austere-looking wingback chairs dotted around the room, Harry settled himself in a nearby window seat, opened the book on his lap and then leant back to enjoy the warm summer sunshine streaming through the stained glass panes.

He was barely three pages into the adventures of Godric and his chums when Harry realised the words were blurring slightly in front of him. He rubbed his eyes and tried again; maybe he shouldn't have stayed up quite so late with Bill and Ron, he thought ruefully as he valiantly struggled to stay awake.

The warmth seeping into the room from outside wasn't helping. Its tendrils curled around Harry like a familiar old blanket, soothing his tired limbs and lulling him into a relaxed state. 

In the end he gave it up as a bad job. He closed the book with a loud snap and placed it on the nearby table. He had every intention of returning it to its proper place – just as soon as he'd had a little nap.

The fates were clearly not on his side, however, because no sooner had Harry's eyelashes swept dark semi-circles against his cheeks, then he heard the click and creak of the heavy doors opening.

Reluctantly he cracked one eye open, silently praying it was anyone but Hermione. He shut it again quickly – in some ways this was much worse. Harry took what he hoped were discreet deep breaths and steeled himself. He opened both eyes fully this time.

Malfoy looked stunning. There was no other word for it, however hard Harry tried to find one. He wanted to bleach out his own brain for even daring to suggest such a term, but instead, he just stared. 

Never one to shy away from drawing attention to himself, Malfoy was dressed from head to toe in what looked like white linen. An open-necked shirt – a little too open for Harry's peace of mind – with the barest amount of buttons done up, and a pair of loose trousers that were slung so low Harry wasn't entirely sure just _how_ they were staying up. But what really caught Harry's attention were his bare feet. Something about that, and Harry had no idea what, caused his mouth to go more than a little dry.

Finally spotting Harry, Malfoy gave a slow smile – one that curled the edges of his lips just enough for warmth, before lighting up his eyes in a similar fashion. Harry resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall.

"Potter," Malfoy said pleasantly. "I must confess this is the last place I expected to find you."

Aware that a response was required, Harry dragged his gaze up from the open neck of Malfoy's shirt. He opened his mouth but his vocal chords were apparently just as awed by Malfoy's appearance as he, himself, had been a moment ago.

Malfoy didn't seem to notice, or, if he did, was polite enough not to comment. And wasn't that just a shocker?

"Or was that the idea, I wonder," Malfoy continued. "I heard Granger looking for you only a moment ago."

Harry's eyes widened in concern and darted towards the door.

"Relax." Malfoy grinned now – something Harry wasn't sure he'd ever get used to seeing on his face. "I told her I'd seen you head off out with your broom. She seems to have found herself a ready companion, though."

Harry gave a small sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said, wondering as he did, what on earth had prompted Malfoy to do such a thing.

Apparently Malfoy had added mind-reader to the long list of his many other talents. "Let's just say I have my reasons," he said cryptically, then crossed the last few yards between them and seated himself next to Harry.

"Good book?" he asked, leaning forward to inspect the spine.

Harry didn't answer. Malfoy's shirt had risen up with the movement, revealing just how low slung his trousers were. Harry's entire world narrowed down to a tantalising glimpse of hip bone, and the urge to just _lick_.

Then he gave himself a hard, mental shake. Enticing or not, those hip bones were still attached to Malfoy.

"You all right there, Potter?" Malfoy turned to face Harry, and suddenly his hair was a gleaming curtain of gold caught in the sun's rays. "You seem a little out of it today."

"Fine," Harry replied, steeling himself once again to make eye contact. "Just a bit woolly-headed after last night."

"Ah, yes. I noticed that the Firewhisky stocks were rather depleted this morning."

"Don't worry, I'll replace it." Harry couldn't help the slight sharpness that crept into his tone. Old habits and all that crap.

Malfoy frowned at him for a moment, as if trying to solve a puzzle. Then he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Not necessary. You are a guest in my home, Potter." He leant back against the glass and looked at Harry meditatively. "I see the years haven't made you any less prickly."

Harry bristled at the implied insult and opened his mouth to retort. The he snapped it closed again when he realised he'd just be proving Malfoy's point. Instead, he turned his head to look out on the gardens, and tried his hardest not to clench his jaw.

"Potter." Malfoy's tone was soft, but Harry still didn't trust himself not to say something unnecessary.

"Potter." This time the word was accompanied by a hand resting on his knee gently.

Harry turned in shock at the unexpected contact – even through the thick denim of his jeans he was sure he could feel the heat of Malfoy's touch. He stared at the hand in open-mouthed surprise, before transferring the same gaze upwards. Malfoy remained unfazed.

"Look, Potter, I'm no good at this sort of thing, so you're going to have to help me out a little."

Just for a brief moment, Harry's brain supplied numerous images of just what _this sort of thing_ could be. "I don't follow you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and made no attempt to hide it. " _This_ " he said, gesturing between the two of them. "Look, I'm making an effort here, would it kill you to be a little friendly?"

"You want to be friends?" Harry asked slowly, as if trying the words out for size. "With me?"

"Merlin help me, I have no idea why, but yes. I would like it if we could at least try."

"Why?" Harry had already had numerous _friends_ who were only interested in the glare of the spotlight, in bathing in his reflected glory, for him to take this at face value. And it was Malfoy asking, of all people.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I might just like you?"

Harry didn't respond to this, he simply borrowed Malfoy's eyebrow raise and just _looked_.

Apparently his unspoken point was not lost on Malfoy, who had the good grace to laugh softly. "Okay, I'll give you that," he replied. "But school was a long time ago, Potter, and I'm not the same person anymore."

"So I'm told," Harry murmured, thinking back to his conversation with Charlie. Then he looked up, eyes glittering with determination. "You know what, why not?" he said rashly. "Charlie keeps telling me you're a decent bloke."

"You let him do all your thinking for you?"

"No. But I do trust his judgement."

Malfoy had no response to that it seemed, verbally at least. He did however give Harry's knee an almost imperceptible squeeze. "Thanks," he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. 

Before Harry had chance to process his reaction to this, the doors creaked loudly. Malfoy pulled back from him like a startled cat and the spot on Harry's knee where his hand had been now felt cold. One look at Ginny's face, however, told Harry that Malfoy hadn't moved so quick that she hadn't noticed.

Malfoy stood up sharply. "I'll leave you two to it," he said with a distant smile. "Ginevra," he acknowledged with a slight nod.

Ginny grinned in reply. "Draco."

It was the briefest of exchanges, but it left Harry surprised nonetheless. Not only had Ginny used Malfoy's first name of all things – and when had _that_ happened – but the only person who ever got away with using Ginny's full name was her mother, and that was only when Molly was in such a rage that Ginny didn't dare protest. He filed that piece of information away to be examined later.

"He fancies you," Ginny declared as soon as the door had shut behind Malfoy.

Harry spluttered. "Don't be ridiculous – it's _Malfoy_."

Ginny settled herself alongside Harry and just grinned at him slyly. "I'm well aware of who he is, Harry. I also know that when I walked in here he was touching you. And you were letting him."

"He asked if we could be friends," Harry replied, still sounding a little dazed at the prospect. 

"Yes," Ginny murmured. "I'm sure that's all he wants." She shook her head slightly and smiled at Harry almost pityingly.

"Not everything is about sex," he snapped a little defensively.

"So says the man who hasn't had a shag in...how long has it been now, Harry?"

Harry just stuck his tongue out at her. "Remind me again why I'm friends with you."

Ginny grinned. "Because unlike certain other of your _friends_ , who shall remain nameless, I'm actually not trying to get you into bed."

"Not now, maybe," Harry teased, giving her a slight nudge with his elbow. 

"We all make mistakes in our youth," Ginny replied loftily.

Her words brought back a recent memory to Harry. _I'm not the same person anymore,_ Malfoy had declared, and Harry found he was increasingly inclined to agree.

**********

Harry was in the midst of a very nice dream. Grimmauld Place looked much as it ever did, but Sirius was there, laughing and joking and promising Harry a home. It was a dream he had often, and had once been bittersweet, but now Harry had learnt to treasure the memories for what they were, rather than pine for what was lost.

Only tonight, someone kept banging insistently on the front door, interrupting Harry every time he tried to speak with his godfather. Finally, just as Sirius faded away to the distant echoes of his cries, the noise finally pulled Harry from his sleeping state.

He rubbed at bleary eyes and rolled to the side – staring at his bedroom door as if his glare could permeate its very surface.

"Potter."

Now Harry knew he was still dreaming. Why else would Draco Malfoy be at his bedroom door at – he checked his watch – six am in the morning.

The knock sounded again, sharper this time, and Harry decided to humour his subconscious.

He clambered out of bed and hissed softly at the cold of the floor beneath his feet, then swung the door open to reveal Malfoy, hand raised as if to knock yet again.

"Oh, did I wake you?" Malfoy enquired calmly, as if early morning visits were a common occurrence between them.

Harry stifled the urge to hex. "It's the middle of the night, Malfoy, what do you think?"

"You've obviously gone soft since joining the Aurors." Malfoy grinned smugly. "I'm usually up and ready for training by now."

Harry looked pointedly at Malfoy's pyjama-clad body. "Really," he said disbelievingly.

"Well, not today, obviously. It's the off season."

"And _I'm_ on holiday."

"Excuses." Malfoy made an impatient gesture with his hand. "You need to get dressed. We've got plans for today."

"Plans," Harry repeated. Now he knew this wasn't a dream – he'd obviously slipped into a parallel universe, one where Malfoy looked adorably sleep-rumpled and visited Harry's bedroom in the middle of the night.

"Yes, plans. Charlie's leaving for work soon. We have to be quick if we want to go with him."

"Charlie?" This conversation was getting more confusing by the minute.

"Do you plan to repeat everything I say?" Malfoy asked, then he sighed. "I thought you might like the chance to look round the reserve today. Unless you have plans to sightsee with Granger?"

That woke Harry up. "Not bloody likely," he muttered. Then added, "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier? Like yesterday for instance?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Spur of the moment. Charlie says they're expecting one of the eggs to hatch today. I thought you'd like to see that."

Harry didn't miss the sheen of excitement in Malfoy's eyes that told him exactly _who_ wanted to see the hatching. Not that he wasn't keen himself. "Sounds like fun," he admitted, thinking longingly of his warm bed. "When—"

"You've got ten minutes," Malfoy answered before Harry could even finish the question. "He'll meet us in the entrance hall; don't be late." With that, Malfoy spun on his heel and strode off down the hall. He got a few feet before he stopped and turned around.

"Oh, and Potter?"

Harry poked his head back out into the hall. "Yes?" he asked, the exasperation clear in his tone. 

"Bring your broom with you. It looks like being a nice day."

*

In the end, Harry had been just as excited to watch the baby dragon hatch as Malfoy. He couldn't help but think of Hagrid and how much he would have liked to be there – Harry made a mental note to visit his old friend as soon as possible; it really had been far too long.

"Thought you'd get a kick out of seeing that," Malfoy said as they made their way through the large dragon pens. "Must take you back to your dragon smuggling days at Hogwarts."

"Ha, ha," Harry muttered, and gave Malfoy a nudge with his elbow. "You really were an awful little shit at school."

He meant it in good humour, but the smile faded from Malfoy's face. "I know," he said softly.

Harry felt instantly uncomfortable. Annoying, snarky Malfoy he could handle. But this pensive, uncertain version was something new. "Hey." He stopped and placed his hand on Malfoy's arm. "I was just kidding, you know?"

Malfoy turned to face him, his expression sceptical.

"That's what friends do, right?" Harry said hopefully, wishing he'd never opened his mouth in the first place.

It worked, though, because Malfoy's face broke into a smile. "Friends," he murmured, almost to himself, then gave Harry a nudge of his own. "At least I wasn't an arrogant wanker," he retorted.

Harry laughed, partly in humour, but mainly in relief. "You keep telling yourself that.

*

"D'you ever miss Hogwarts?"

Malfoy's hand, and his sandwich, stilled halfway to his mouth. "Pardon?"

Harry could tell from his reaction that the question had been heard, but he played along. 

"Hogwarts," he repeated patiently. "Do you ever miss it?"

"No." Malfoy made no effort to elaborate. He placed the half-eaten sandwich back on his plate and pushed it away slightly.

"I do," Harry admitted softly. "Everything used to seem so much more simple then."

Malfoy choked on his drink. "Potter, you had a barking mad psycho trying to kill you the whole time. In whose world is that simple?"

"Okay, so that part of it wasn't great." Malfoy snorted here but Harry ignored him. "But the rest of it, that I miss."

"Well, of course you do." Malfoy's cough that followed sounded suspiciously like _Golden Boy_.

Harry leaned over and gave him a shove. "Sod off," he said, but the tone and his grin belied his words.

"You know it's true," Malfoy said smugly, leaning back on his hands, legs stretched on the checked blanket beneath.

"Maybe," Harry said finally. "But at least I knew what was expected of me then. I had a purpose, some direction."

"And being an Auror doesn't give you that now?"

Harry shrugged. "In some ways it does. But it's just...don't you ever feel a bit lost, like your life is moving forward but you have no idea what you're actually doing?"

"No." Draco trailed one fingertip around the rim of his glass and refused to meet Harry's eyes. "Maybe," he relented. "A little." He looked up then, his expression daring Harry to mock.

Harry just nodded and reached out for another sandwich.

"I suppose I just don't have the good memories of it that you do," Malfoy blurted out, and he looked surprised by his own words.

"You always seemed happy," Harry said. "An obnoxious prat, but a happy one."

"Thanks, _friend_." Draco grinned, but it didn't last for long. "I was to start with – up until fourth year. But then things changed."

Voldemort's rebirth remained unspoken between them, but it was obvious from their expressions that it was on both their minds.

"I didn't realise..." Draco fell silent; his head dipped forward, his hair shielding his face.

Harry couldn't help but reach out. He clasped Malfoy's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I know."

Malfoy looked up then and Harry was left almost breathless at the sheer storm of emotions in his eyes. "Sixth year was...difficult." Malfoy laughed bitterly. "Difficult," he repeated with a shake of his head. 

Harry tensed for a moment, his mind filled with nothing but vivid flashes of green and Dumbledore's falling body. 

If Malfoy noticed, he didn't show it. "Then there were the Carrows, and Snape, the Fiendfyre, Crabbe. Merlin, Potter!" Draco raked one hand distractedly through his hair, turmoil evident on his face. "How can you possibly miss that place? _You_ , of all people, after what happened there?"

"Why me?" Harry shifted uneasily on the blanket. Malfoy was coming uncomfortably close to a topic that Harry usually avoided like the plague.

Malfoy looked stunned by the question. "Why you?" he repeated. "For fuck's sake, Potter. That night, in the forest, you—"

"Died," Harry finished bluntly. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, Malfoy. I was there."

"So how can you possibly miss it?" Malfoy demanded. "That last year, I couldn't eat in the Great Hall – all I could see were those dead bodies lined up."

Harry's brain supplied another memory – of Fred and Tonks and Remus – but he forced it away as quickly as it came. "It was my first home," he replied simply. "The first place I ever felt like I belonged, that people cared. I know things ended badly, but I can't just forget the rest."

*

"We should head back soon"

Harry turned his head to the side and looked at Malfoy. "Huh?" he asked sleepily.

They were both sprawled on the blanket, enjoying the gentle warmth of the summer sun. The remains of their picnic had long since been Vanished, and the basket tucked, shrunken, into Draco's robe's pocket. Harry wasn't sure how long they'd lain there – to be honest, he really didn't care. Malfoy's company and the occasional dragon sighting were more than enough to keep him content.

Malfoy rolled onto his side, one hand supporting his head. "Move it, lazybones," he said, nudging Harry's leg with his foot. "Don't go falling asleep on me or I'll leave you here to be dragon food."

"You wouldn't do that," Harry replied confidently, his eyes drifting shut again. 

"Oh, really. And what makes you so sure?"

Harry couldn't see Malfoy's raised eyebrow, but he knew instinctively it was there. "Because," he said smugly, "we're friends."

Malfoy chuckled. "I really didn't think that idea through, did I?"

"Probably not." Harry grinned. "But you're stuck with me now."

**********


	2. Two

"So, you and Malfoy seem to be getting on well."

Harry was on his bed, propped up by numerous pillows and attempting to read. "Come in, Gin, why don't you?"

Ginny didn't bat an eyelid at the sarcasm. She shut the door behind her and crossed the room, before perching cross-legged on his bed. "Stop avoiding the question."

"I wasn't aware you'd asked one." Harry closed his book and placed it on the bedside table.

Ginny huffed. "You know what I mean." She tossed her long, auburn hair back, and even though he no longer felt anything more than brotherly affection for her, Harry's fingers itched to touch it nonetheless. "What's going on with you and Malfoy?"

"Nothing," Harry replied stubbornly. Then, spotting her expression, he shrugged. "We're friends, sort of."

"Just friends?" Ginny's tone was sceptical at best.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No," Ginny replied slowly. "It's good to see you're putting the past behind you, I just thought..."

"What?"

"Well, you're spending a lot of time with him."

"And?" Harry glared; he was just a bit sick of having his every move analysed.

"I'm just curious, I suppose," Ginny admitted.

Harry gave a sigh. "Just spit it out, Gin. There's obviously something you're trying to say."

Ginny looked down, watching her fingers as they traced idle circles on the silken duvet cover. "No one would mind, you know," she said softly. "He's changed – we can all see that." She paused and then reached out to clasp Harry's hand in her own. "I just want you to be happy."

Harry tensed. "I _am_ happy."

"Are you, though?" She squeezed his hand gently.

"Yes," Harry replied shortly. He pulled his hand away and raked it through his hair. "I'm fine. Stop worrying." He turned on the bed to face her fully. "Look, Malfoy and I are trying to be friends. He seems like a decent enough bloke, but that's it. We aren't shagging or whatever it is you've got it into your head that we're doing."

Ginny laughed at that. "Fair enough." Then she smiled slyly. "Aren't you in the slightest bit interested, though? He is fit – don't deny it."

"I'm not blind," Harry said with just the hint of a smile on his lips. "I can see he's good looking. Doesn't mean I'm secretly pining for him."

"But he—"

"Just drop it, will you?"

Ginny watched him thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. "Okay, I'll leave it. For now." She clambered off the bed and held out her hand. "You coming downstairs? George'll be here soon."

**********

"You're running a book?"

"Yep." George grinned broadly. "You want in?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "I can't believe you're running a book on your brother having sex."

"It's tradition." George flopped into the chair next to him. "We did one when Bill and Fleur got married, too. Fred cleaned up on that one – jammy git."

Harry was pleasantly surprised to hear George speak easily of his dead twin. Ever since the war, Fred's name had been an unspoken taboo around him.

"Okay." Harry tucked his legs up underneath him. "Run it past me one more time."

"It's simple." George dug in his pocket and produced a battered notebook. "For the next three nights, Charlie and Oliver will sleep in separate rooms."

"And the point of that is?"

"Tradition," George replied. "We might be _blood traitors_ but there are still some pure-blood rituals that even we stick to. For the three nights preceding their Handfasting, the bride and groom – or groom and groom in this case – aren't allowed to be alone together. I think it was about maintaining chastity, originally." He paused here and glanced over to where Charlie sat, then turned back to Harry with a grin. "Obviously there's no chance of that with these two. They're at it like rabbits from what I hear."

Harry tried very hard not to picture that – it was tempting though. "Why three?"

"It's the magic number," Ginny answered with a grin, as she perched on the arm of Harry's chair.

"Don't tell me you're involved in this as well?"

Ginny reached out and ruffled Harry's hair. "Like George says, it's tradition."

George beamed approvingly at his sister. "That's my girl." Then he thrust the notebook in Harry's direction – opened at an obviously well-thumbed page. "Here you go."

"So I what?" Harry asked, frowning at the page. "Just pick a day and time?"

"You've got it." George nodded. "As long as it's not already taken."

Harry scanned the list briefly and then just scribbled his name in the first vacant spot he saw. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this." He handed the book back to George, who eyed him expectantly. "What?"

"You have to pay, Harry." Ginny gave him a light tap on the back of his head. "It's a Galleon a guess."

"You're kidding?" Harry demanded, but one look at both their faces told him they weren't. He dug in his pocket and wondered if it was too late to change his mind. "And who gets all the money at the end"

George almost snatched the Galleon away. "Winner takes all."

"But how will you know?" Harry frowned. "I mean, it's not like Charlie's just going to announce it to everyone, is he."

"You worry too much, Harry." George sat back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. "Fred and I made a slight modification to the Virginity Charm before Bill's wedding. The second those two start getting frisky, I'll know about it.

**********

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

"C'mon, Harry." Ron gave his best friend a clap on the shoulder. "It'll be just like the old days."

"Not quite, I hope," Harry muttered, and then glanced over to where Malfoy had gathered _his_ team. 

Ron followed his gaze. "Oh, I don't know, you were pretty obsessed with him then, too."

Harry almost swallowed his tongue in surprise at this remark. He turned a horrified look on Ron, but was cut off before he could respond.

"Come on, Harry. What's the hold up?" Oliver was paused ready to mount his broom. Malfoy, at his side, mirrored the stance. Clearly they were both keen to be in the air.

Not for the first time that afternoon, Harry questioned the wisdom in taking on a team that contained two professional players.

"Scared, Potter?"

That took Harry back. He didn't even have to think before replying, "You wish, Malfoy."

Harry was sure somewhere in the stands Hermione was rolling her eyes.

"Don't worry, mate, you can take him."

Harry wasn't the only one to catch the double meaning in Ron's words. As Charlie and Ginny sniggered along with their brother, Harry strode forward. "Come on, then. Let's get on with it."

*

Being an Auror had definitely kept Harry fit, but the fast-paced game soon awakened muscles long-since forgotten. However, despite the burn of his inner thighs, and rather numb bum – the Cushioning Charms on his Firebolt weren't what they once were -- Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun – in the air or otherwise.

The thrill of the chase with Malfoy had diminished none since those long ago days at Hogwarts, but Harry had to admit to finding their reversed positions more than a little strange. Of course, flying behind Malfoy did have its compensations.

A burst of cheers from their opponents drew Harry's attention back to the game. George was circling victory loops in front of Ron's goal, and goading his brother in the way that only siblings could, whilst Ginny glared at them both – arms folded and a scowl in place that would have made her mother proud.

"Not looking good for your team, is it, Potter?"

It took all of Harry's self-control not to show his surprise at Malfoy's nearness. "It's still early days," he replied, teeth gritted. Instead of turning to face his fellow Seeker – which Harry knew would be a bad idea for his concentration – he turned his attention instead to locating the rest of his team.

Charlie, when he spotted him, was hovering a little too close to the other team's Goalkeeper.

"Oi, Charlie," Harry yelled. "Less flirting with your boyfriend; we've got a game to win."

Charlie just grinned while Oliver offered Harry a two-fingered salute in reply. "You're a fine one to talk about flirting, Harry, considering your eyes have been glued to Draco's arse since we took off."

For once Harry was grateful for the biting wind – if nothing else it cooled his heated cheeks. "I'm in position," he muttered, too softly for Oliver to hear, but not, it seemed, for Malfoy.

"So, been enjoying the view have you?" Malfoy had pulled right alongside Harry now, their knees bare inches apart.

Before Harry could reply there was another burst of cheering from behind them. Bill, this time, had put the Quaffle through his brother's goal. Ron and Ginny wore matching scowls, but Harry was more distracted by the throaty chuckle tickling his ear.

He pulled back quickly, unwilling to own his body's reactions. Instead he glared at Malfoy. "Don't get too smug, the game isn't over yet."

"No," Malfoy agreed, before he turned sharply and shot away after a glint of gold. "But it very soon will be"

*

"Merlin, I'm getting old." Harry slid off his broom with a wince and stretched.

"Don't talk rot," Malfoy scoffed. "You're just not used to having your arse kicked."

Harry opened his mouth to fire back a retort and then snapped it shut quickly – he really didn't want to get onto the subject of arses again – not while Malfoy was all hot and bothered and still wearing those decidedly tight Quidditch breeches. Instead, he settled for something that he knew was sure to distract his companion. "You're good," he admitted, surprised at how little it cost him. "Really good."

Malfoy turned to face him and Harry prepared himself for the expected gloating and preening – what he got instead was much more surprising.

"Thank you. That means a lot – coming from you."

Harry was surprised by the sincerity in Malfoy's words, and when he chanced a glance upwards, that emotion was written all over Malfoy's face as well. Harry smiled warmly at his companion, but before he had chance to find the right words, he found himself with a face full of sweaty towel.

Harry inhaled. He couldn't help it, not really. It was just breathing, he told himself. It wasn't like the smells of leather and broom polish had combined with something else – something distinctly manly and Malfoyish – to stir Harry's senses.

A quick mental shake later and Harry whipped the towel away. Malfoy was already striding across the pitch, broom perched atop his shoulder. "Come on, Potter. It's shower time."

And really, Harry thought, there were three words he never expected to hear out of Draco Malfoy's mouth – whatever the context.

*

_Shower time._

The words kept rolling around in Harry's brain and increased the slight feeling of nausea he'd had ever since Malfoy'd first uttered them.

Harry was quite capable of denying any emotional attachment to his one-time enemy. Indeed, he'd had plenty of practice denying his feelings of one sort or another over the years. But this, this was a different sort of challenge altogether, and Harry had yet to meet a man who could exert that level of denial over his more primal urges.

Malfoy was fit. Merlin, the man was bloody gorgeous – even without his glasses Harry could see that. So how the hell was he supposed to make it through a shower, a _communal_ shower, without broadcasting his physical attraction in the most basic of ways possible?

Malfoy pulled his shirt off over his head and Harry chanced a quick look. His eyes roamed eagerly over the broad shoulders, long lean arms, the enticing pinks of his nipples set against creamy skin that was so practically perfect that Harry really wanted to—

"Shit." Harry swallowed hard.

Malfoy dropped his shirt on the bench and looked up. "What?" he asked worriedly. "Is my hair sticking up?" His hands automatically rose to his head.

Harry smiled weakly. "It's fine," he croaked, and took a step closer.

"Potter, whatever's the..." Malfoy's words dried up the second Harry's fingertip touched his skin.

"I did this, didn't I?" Harry's finger traced the length of the scar that bisected Malfoy's torso. 

Malfoy chuckled and Harry felt the rumble of it through his chest. "Yes, that's your handiwork."

Harry looked up, his eyes wide and pain-filled. "You have to know...I never meant...I didn't realise." The words tumbled from Harry's lips before he had time to form them into a coherent sentence.

Malfoy raised one hand and circled Harry's wrist tightly. "Potter," he said tensely. "Don't you dare apologise for this."

Harry swallowed hard and tried to make sense of Malfoy's words – which was easier said than done because the feel of those long tapered fingers gripping his arm was rather distracting. "But I could have killed you."

The grip tightened and when Harry looked up again he was met by a gaze so intense that he struggled to hold it.

"We both know what Curse I was about to use." Malfoy paused for a moment to look down at his scarred flesh. "If anything I should be thanking you."

"For almost killing you?" Harry demanded incredulously.

"For saving me from a lifetime in Azkaban. Or from killing you."

"You wouldn't have," Harry replied quickly, and he was surprised by just how certain of that he was.

Malfoy let go of Harry's wrist and stepped back. "You don't know that," he muttered, and raked a hand through his hair distractedly.

Without thought, Harry closed the distance between them and reached out for Malfoy's arm. He wrapped his fingers firmly around Malfoy's wrist and looked up with determination written in his face. "I do," he said firmly.

**********

"Weasley, for the love of Merlin stop buzzing around – you're like a particularly annoying fly."

Harry smiled at this, but Ron's face registered his annoyance. "Sod off, Malfoy. You just don't want me watching so you can cheat in peace."

Malfoy scoffed. "I hardly think cheating is necessary." He reached out and moved his queen into play. "Potter isn't exactly the most challenging of opponents," he continued, then turned to his opponent. "No offence."

"None taken," Harry replied with a wry smile – it wasn't like it wasn't the truth. He paused for a moment and considered the board, then reached out for his rook. A none-too-subtle cough from Ron's direction stilled his movement though.

"Merlin's balls, Weasley, now who's cheating?" Draco shifted in his seat. "Pansy, can't you find some way to keep your boyfriend occupied, before I hex off your favourite parts?"

Pansy smirked slightly and raised an eyebrow. The look she gave her boyfriend was unmistakeable and had even Harry a little hot under the collar. Ron's eyes widened, his pupils blown, then he shook his head reluctantly.

"We can't. Mum and Dad'll be here soon. And Fleur and the kids. Mum'll have a fit if we're not here to meet them."

A loud crack sounded then and a small, nervous-looking house-elf appeared, its fingers twisting nervously in its pillow case.

"Master Draco's guests is being early," it squeaked. "Tilly is showing them here now, sir."

Before any of the room's occupants had time to respond to this surprise announcement, the door to the drawing room flew open and two small whirlwinds launched themselves across the room at their father. Fleur followed her children at a much more sedate pace, but she too had eyes only for Bill.

"This is where you're all hiding." Arthur Weasley's beaming face appeared in the doorway. "I thought we'd never find you in this place – we've already got lost once."

"Don't listen to him." Molly appeared at her husband's side. "You know how he likes to exaggerate."

Ginny stepped forward and kissed her mother's cheek. "We would have met you outside."

"Yeah," Ron chipped in. "But you're not meant to be here for another couple of hours."

" _Someone_ got the timing of the Portkey wrong; we nearly missed it."

Arthur grinned sheepishly in response to his wife's pointed remarks. "Oh well," he said, reaching out and shaking Harry's hand. "It all worked out well in the end." He winked at Harry while his wife simply huffed in irritation, before turning his attention back to the group. "Ah, young Malfoy, I understand we have you to thank for this wonderful hospitality?"

Malfoy nodded. "It was my pleasure to help, sir," he murmured, and endured Arthur's rather hearty handshake.

"It really is a beautiful home you have." 

"That's very kind of you to say. Thank you." Malfoy treated Molly to a blinding smile and a slight bow; Harry was amused to note that it flustered her, just a little. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to that cannot wait."

Malfoy gave another little bow, stiffer this time, and then made a hasty exit from the room. Harry watched him go, a small frown creasing his brow. Malfoy had made no mention of any pressing business, in fact, he'd seemed perfectly content to lounge around playing chess all morning – so what had changed?

*

There was no sign of Malfoy at lunchtime.

Harry didn't realise until that moment just how much he had started to take the other man's presence for granted. Especially when the first thing he did on entering the dining room was to scan it for that familiar blond head.

Instead, he had to settle for a seat between two red ones.

Harry was halfway through his soup when it struck him that something else was wrong as well. "What have you done to him now?" he muttered to George, with a nod to where Ron sat obviously sulking.

"So suspicious," George replied sadly, shaking his head. "I'm hurt that you'd think that of me."

"He's just realised he's lost his Galleon, that's all," Ginny put in from Harry's other side.

Harry's brow creased. "Galleon," he repeated, then, "Oh, the sweepstake you mean?"

"Shhh." George cast a wary glance to where his mother was sitting not three chairs away. It didn't matter how grown up any of the Weasley children got, they still retained a healthy fear of their mother's temper.

"There's only the three of us left in it now," Ginny whispered, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"You haven't won yet, Sis." George turned to Harry. "If those two," he nodded to where Charlie and Oliver were holding court at the head of the table, "don't get _busy_ in the next eighteen hours, then Ginny wins it all."

"You bet that they wouldn't?" Harry asked in amusement. 

Ginny nodded. "Charlie always did have more self-control than most of us Weasleys."

"That remains to be seen, sister dear." There was a speculative gleam in George's eyes as he watched the couple in question.

Ginny leaned across Harry and gave her brother a sharp jab. "No cheating," she hissed. "No getting them drunk or locking them in a room together or any of those other things you did to Bill."

George turned his best wounded face on his sister and clutched his chest. Harry couldn't help but laugh at their antics, and for the first time in a while, stopped thinking about Malfoy.

*

By the time dinner rolled around, the only sign of Malfoy's presence was the skittish house-elf who appeared to make its Master's apologies. Harry sat quietly and listened to the small creature's somewhat weak excuses for Malfoy's absence – all the while a slow coil of anger twisting in his belly.

Clearly Malfoy was doing this on purpose, was avoiding the elder Weasleys for some reason, and Harry was not one to let something like this lie. Unable to sit and make polite conversation, he excused himself from the table and headed from the room.

It didn't take Harry long to track down his errant host – the first house-elf he ran into was only too happy to divulge its master's whereabouts to the _Great Harry Potter_.

Harry strode into the library with purpose – the loud bang of the opening doors caused Malfoy to look up from his desk in surprise.

"It's not contagious, you know."

Malfoy closed his book calmly and settled it to one side, then he turned a mildly curious expression on Harry. "What isn't?"

"Being poor, or common, or whatever other twisted reason you have for avoiding the Weasleys."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly in surprise but he remained silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Not denying it, I see," Harry snapped, his gaze practically pinning the other man in his chair.

"Is there really any point," Malfoy asked coolly, "when you've so obviously made up your mind already?"

Harry just stared at Malfoy for a moment. Then he gave a shake of his head and laughed bitterly. "I can't believe I thought you'd changed."

Malfoy pushed his chair back from the desk and got to his feet. "I suppose that answers my question. Good evening, Potter." And with that he strode from the room. 

Harry watched him leave, but Malfoy never faltered nor turned back.

**********

When Harry turned to leave the library, he found Ginny waiting for him on the other side of the door. She didn't look happy. Before he could speak, Harry found himself dragged into the nearby sitting room.

"You're such an idiot sometimes," Ginny said without preamble. She clouted Harry around the head for good measure.

"Hey." Harry rubbed the tender spot on his skull 

"Don't _hey_ me, Harry Potter." Ginny produced a scowl she had clearly learnt at her mother's knee. "I can't believe you just did that."

"What?" Harry's surprise was fading now and annoyance swiftly replacing it. "Defended your parents?"

"Mum and Dad are both capable of defending themselves -- _if_ it's necessary. Which, in this case, it wasn't."

Harry rubbed his face in confusion. "But Malfoy's been avoiding them all day. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Ginny huffed in irritation. "Of course I've noticed, but unlike you I didn't jump to wild conclusions."

Harry crossed his arms defensively. "Why else—"

"I don't know, Harry. But did you try asking him?" Ginny fixed a knowing gaze on Harry who flushed guiltily. "Or did you just rush in making accusations? Look, Malfoy is Charlie's best man tomorrow; I hardly think that would be the case if he was still clinging on to his old blood prejudices."

Harry felt a horribly familiar gnawing sensation in his stomach – guilt. "But why was he avoiding them then?" he asked, almost plaintively.

Ginny shook her head. "I really don't know. Maybe because he felt uncomfortable? You have to admit we can all be pretty overwhelming when we're together. Or maybe he just feels awkward around Mum and Dad after what happened to Bill and Ron and me."

"The diary wasn't Draco's fault," Harry replied instantly.

Ginny gave a small smile in return. "I know."

"And the other two, with Bill and Ron, they were accidents. Draco didn't mean to..."

Harry was brought to a halt by Ginny's hand on his arm. " _I_ know that, Harry, but Malfoy has no idea how Mum and Dad feel about it."

Ginny's words made a lot of sense, Harry was forced to admit. And as they registered in his brain, Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "I screwed up, didn't I?"

Ginny nodded without hesitation. "Yep, I'd say so."

"You're a big help." 

"Look, just go and talk to him. Apologise, grovel if you have to."

Harry smiled wryly. "You make it sound such an appealing prospect."

Ginny shook her head again. "Honestly." She looked around and quickly grabbed a bottle of wine off the nearby sideboard. "Here, take this with you." She thrust the bottle into Harry's hands. "George is only planning to ply Charlie with it later."

Harry took the bottle and then reluctantly accepted the two glasses that Ginny pressed on him as well. "Doesn't this look a little...you know?"

"No, I don't _you know_. It's a peace offering, Harry. Now go and sort this out before I set Hermione on the pair of you."

**********

Harry made his way reluctantly in the direction of Malfoy's room. Apologise, he must, but that didn't mean Harry had to like it – admitting he was wrong had never come easily.

But no matter how much he dragged his feet, the double doors of Malfoy's suite loomed large in front of him all too soon. Without giving himself time think, or to change his mind, Harry reached out with his free hand and rapped smartly on the door.

Nothing.

It was tempting to walk away, to shrug it off and say that he'd tried, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion of how well _that_ would go down with Ginny. 

He knocked again. "Malfoy, you in there? It's me, Ha—Potter."

There was another long pause with no sound from within. Suspecting Malfoy was simply on the other side of the door laughing at him, Harry determined to waste no more time. He was just about to spin on his heel, Ginny be damned, when a bored-sounding voice from within called, "It's open."

That stopped Harry in his tracks for a moment. Because, to be honest, he really hadn't thought this through all that much – he'd been so focussed on _finding_ Malfoy, that what he'd actually _say_ to Malfoy had never crossed his mind.

Harry held the palm of his empty hand close to the door's surface and moved it around slowly, concentrating hard to sense any jinxes or booby traps that Malfoy might have felt inclined to leave behind. Harry wouldn't put that past him, and at that moment, he probably wouldn't blame him either.

Satisfied that at least the door wouldn't attack him, Harry turned the handle and entered.

Whatever he'd expected Malfoy's room to be like – and if pressed, Harry would strongly deny that he'd ever given it any thought – it certainly wasn't what he found once he stepped inside. 

As with the rest of the house, the floor was wooden. Unlike the other rooms, Harry's included, the wood had been stripped back to its bare bones – years of stain and varnish removed to reveal its natural glorious colour. 

The panelling on the walls and the furniture were all of a similar shade, and were accented perfectly by the midnight blue fabrics and silver trims. And the final finishing touch, the one thing that had Harry determining to renovate his own home very soon, was the large fireplace that currently housed a blazing fire that cast a cosy glow around the whole room.

Harry was no expert on interior design or feng shui, or any of that nonsense his Aunt Petunia used to ramble on about, but even he could feel the sense of peace and calm that emanated from this room. He gazed around, stunned, for a moment, almost forgetting the purpose of his visit. But then, there was Malfoy, stretched out in front of the fire on a white fur rug, like a cat glorying in its heat.

"Come in, Potter, if you're coming. You're letting all the heat out."

That brought Harry back to his surroundings. "Sorry," he muttered, then shut the door quickly behind himself and stepped forward into the room.

Malfoy rolled over so he was lying on his back, and propped himself up on his elbows. The movement caused his jumper to inch up slightly, revealing a pale slash of taut belly, and causing Harry's mouth to dry at the barest suggestion of those hipbones. Malfoy watched Harry curiously, one eyebrow raised. "To what do I owe the honour of your company?"

Harry shuffled a little nervously – Malfoy didn't sound angry, but you could never be sure with him. "I wanted to apologise. For what I said earlier."

Draco's gaze dropped to the wine and glasses clutched in Harry's hand. "And you thought that seducing me was the way to go?"

Harry flushed slightly. "It's stupid, I know. Ginny thought...well, it was a daft idea." Harry shook his head and turned to leave, shoulders slumped a little despondently.

"Not so fast, Potter." Malfoy sat up quickly and plucked the bottle from Harry's hand. "She might have some questionable ideas about what constitutes an apology, but Ginevra certainly knows her wine." He perused the label intently. "This is an excellent vintage."

Harry turned back around; he could feel the tension easing slowly from his body. "Really?" he asked uncertainly, and it was fairly obvious he meant more than just the wine.

Malfoy smiled, and in the flicker of the firelight, his eyes seemed to glow. "Really," he confirmed softly. "It would be churlish of us not to partake, don't you think?"

"I suppose." Harry didn't sound entirely convinced about that.

"Of course you do," Malfoy agreed. "Now, join me." He made an expansive gesture with his arm and Harry needed no further persuasion to sink into the heavenly softness of that rug.

He couldn't help the sigh of satisfaction that escaped his lips.

"You think that's good," Malfoy said, slowly filling the glasses. "Wait until you taste this."

*

The wine was perfect, Harry couldn't deny that. Not only did it taste wonderful, stimulating his taste buds in ways he'd never experienced before, but it had also mellowed relations between him and Malfoy significantly. So much so, that they were now both sprawled side by side on the rug, laughing and joking like old friends.

Harry rolled onto his side, supporting his head with the palm of his hand, and gazed over at Malfoy. It was amazing to him how much pleasure he derived simply from looking. Just as Harry was contemplating reaching out, on seeing for himself if that hair and skin really were as soft as they seemed, Malfoy's head turned towards him.

"I really am sorry, you know?" Harry blurted out suddenly. "About what I said earlier. I know I was wrong."

Some of the laughter faded from Malfoy's eyes and he just stared at Harry searchingly. Harry waited patiently, almost holding his breath for fear of what would happen next. And then it happened. Malfoy reached out with one hand and gently brushed the hair back from Harry's forehead.

"It's okay," he murmured, and then traced his fingertips over Harry's cheekbone and down to the curve of his lips.

It really is, Harry thought, as a number of things clicked into place. Then he parted his lips slightly and kissed Malfoy's fingers.

*

It turned out that that fleeting kiss was all the permission that Malfoy needed. Without further ado he slid one hand around the back of Harry's neck and upwards to tangle in his dark, messy locks, and then pulled him closer.

Harry let out a silent gasp as their lips pressed together for the first time, and Malfoy took the opportunity to slither his tongue between Harry's parted lips and into the warm depths of his mouth.

Caught up in the moment, and in his own sheer need, Harry rolled over until he was on top of Malfoy, his body cradled between those lean, strong thighs. Even with several layers of clothing between them, there was no mistaking the press of a hard cock against his own. Harry rolled his hips, wanting, more than anything, for Malfoy to feel his erection, to know exactly what he'd done to Harry. 

It was a move that met with approval, apparently. It drew a strangled moan from Malfoy's lips, who tore his mouth away from Harry's long enough to gasp, "Merlin, yes," before turning his attention to Harry's throat.

The ease with which their bodies fell into sync with each other was surprising – almost as if it wasn't the first time they'd been together like that. Their hands held each other tightly, Harry pressing down just as Malfoy arched up to meet him. 

During one of the brief moments of lucid thought that Harry actually managed to have, he felt a little like a naughty school boy, getting off in this frantic, almost furtive manner. But then, he figured, he couldn't remember a time when sex of any kind had felt half-way as good as this did, so he stopped analysing it and returned to licking Malfoy's neck.

Just when Harry thought things couldn't feel any more amazing, that his senses were already overloaded, Malfoy's legs wrapped around his waist, and his heels dug into Harry's buttocks, pressing him harder, deeper on every downward thrust.

Their movements became frantic now, hands clutching at each other's bodies, nails scraping over bare flesh where it could be found, and sloppy, desperate kisses were broken only by needy cries for "more."

Malfoy's whole body tensed. His legs clamped tightly around Harry's waist, his fingertips digging almost painfully into Harry's biceps. When Harry slowed his movements down and looked, Malfoy's head was thrown back, his neck arched most enticingly; his cheeks were flushed red, lips parted, and eyes closed. In short, he looked perfect. Unable to resist, Harry leaned in and tracked the tendons in Malfoy's' neck with the tip of his tongue.

That sight alone was almost enough to tip Harry over the edge. But in the end it was Malfoy who, having recovered from his own release, swiftly reversed their positions, straddled Harry's body and ground his arse against Harry's erection until he could take no more.

His own orgasm burst from his body with an almost choked sob. Harry's hands clenched tightly to Malfoy's hips, this thumbs slowly rubbing circles over those much coveted bones.

"Fuck," Malfoy gasped, leaning forward over Harry's panting body. "Do you have any idea how hot you look right now."

Harry let out a breathless chuckle. "Still nowhere near as hot as you, I know that much."

Malfoy smiled slightly and then slumped forward onto Harry's chest. They lay like that, tired but sated, for quite a few minutes, before Malfoy broke the silence.

"Not bad, Potter," he said, sweeping damp locks of hair back off Harry's forehead. "Not bad at all."

Harry smiled and nuzzled closer into Malfoy's neck. "You weren't so shabby yourself," he murmured.

"Only, next time see if you can control yourself long enough for us to make it to an actual bed."

Harry looked up. "There's going to be a next time?"

Malfoy pulled back slightly and fixed Harry with what was clearly meant to be a stern glare. "Potter, the night is young, and so are we – there'd better be quite a few next times."

**********

"Potter, wake up!"

Harry grumbled sleepily and buried his face further in the soft pillows. 

"Potter, I'm not kidding. You need to get up now."

Harry peered bleary eyed from beneath heavy lids. "Shaddup, M'foy," he grumbled.

In response, Malfoy simply leaned over in the bed, fallen covers revealing his naked torso, and just waited. It didn't take long.

Harry's eyes suddenly widened in shock as two things registered in his brain. Firstly, he was in bed with Draco Malfoy, and secondly, they were, to all appearances, both naked. He closed his eyes quickly and rubbed at them with his fists. When Harry chanced another look, Malfoy was smirking back at him.

"I'm still here, Potter," he replied, some amusement clear in his tone. "As are you, which needs to be rectified quickly."

"You're kicking me out?" Harry's memory of the night before was hazy at the moment – he suspected the wine had much to answer for – but parts of it were clear enough that he felt a twinge of pain at this suggestion.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Look, Potter, I realise this is the part in the proceedings where you Gryffindors normally cosy up and discuss your feelings, and I'd love to do that, but we have a wedding to attend in less than three hours and if I don't put in an appearance soon, at least one of the grooms is going to kick my arse."

"Three hours?" Harry repeated incredulously. "But the wedding's not 'til one."

"And it's quarter past ten now." Malfoy swung himself round and climbed out of bed – Harry didn't even try to pretend he wasn't staring. "I realise you're probably a soap and water bloke, but I require a little more preparation before an event like this."

With his cheeks still flushed and creased from sleep, and his hair mussed from the previous night's activities, Harry thought he'd never seen Malfoy look more attractive. However, he was awake enough now to know this was not the time to point it out. Instead, Harry sat up in the bed and squinted around the room in an attempt to locate his pants.

"I'm heading off for a shower now," Malfoy said, still standing there in all his glorious nakedness. "You should probably do the same."

Harry nodded slowly. "I will once I find my clothes. Unless you want someone to catch me naked in the hallway?"

Malfoy smirked slightly. "The elves have seen worse, Potter, believe me," he replied, before turning towards the ensuite. 

Harry's face fell slightly, despite the view.

"Oh, and Potter." Malfoy paused in the doorway.

"Yeah?" Harry tried his hardest to keep his tone neutral. 

"We'll discuss it later, okay? Once the wedding is over.”

**********

Harry took Malfoy's advice and treated himself to a long, hot shower. The soft, velvety water sluicing over his aching muscles came as quite a relief.

Then Harry dressed and headed downstairs, determined to keep as low a profile as possible. Ginny would be after him for details of his _chat_ with Malfoy, and Hermione, well, she would take one look at him and just _know_.

So Harry decided it was best for all if he just kept out of the way until it was time to leave for the ceremony.

It seemed like a good idea at the moment he had thought of it, but it all came crashing down around his feet the moment Harry entered the sitting room. In front of him, looking utterly edible in black silk robes, lined with gold, was Malfoy.

They both started in surprise on sighting each other, but before either of them could flounder in conversation, George Weasley strode into the room.

He, too, looked a little surprised to have company, but quickly recovered. With a low whistle, George slowly began circling the two of them. "Well, well, don't you two scrub up well?"

"I'll have you know I'm never less than impeccably turned out, Weasley." Malfoy treated George to a baleful glare.

George made a dismissive noise in his throat. "Maybe, Malfoy, but I think it's having Harry on your arm that makes you look particularly fetching today."

Harry spluttered at this, just as Malfoy snapped, "Potter is _not_ on my arm."

"Ah," George replied sagely, clearly unfazed by Malfoy's reaction. "But he could be, couldn't he?" Then before either man could protest, George continued. "That reminds me, neither of you two gents had a bottle of wine from off here last night, did you?"

Malfoy sneered, and for the life of him Harry couldn't help but find it just a little sexy. "I have my own wine cellar, Weasley, why, pray tell, would I want to steal yours?"

Harry, on the other hand, swallowed hard as the recognised the familiar sideboard that George was indicating. Then with a quick shake of his head, he pulled himself together. "No, sorry." And technically he wasn't lying – Ginny was the one who had taken it.

"I wonder if it was Percy, then," George mused out loud before grinning madly. "I'll bet that gave Hermione quite a shock."

"George," Harry said slowly, almost as if not to startle the other man. "What did you do?"

George brushed off his concern with a wave of his hand. "Don't look so worried, Harry, it was nothing serious. Just a little Lust Potion. Of course, it _was_ meant for the grooms-to-be, but it might just be worth losing the bet to see old Perce's face today."

Unaware of his word's impact on the other two, George bid them farewell and then exited the room with a mission to hunt down his older brother, and possibly humiliate him, just a little.

"Right," Harry said finally, after a long awkward pause. "That certainly explains a few things."

"Yes," Malfoy agreed, carefully avoiding Harry's eyes. "Perhaps it's best if we just pretend it never happened? We clearly weren't in our right minds at the time."

Harry's heart sank even as he heard himself agree.

When Malfoy had swept from the room, Harry slumped into the nearest chair, head in hands, and wondered numbly whey nothing ever seemed to go quite right for him.

**********

The Handfasting itself was beautiful.

The ceremony took place in a shaded forest glade somewhere on the edges of Malfoy's property. The ground beneath their feet was littered with hundreds of brightly coloured flowers – Harry would have loved to think Mother Nature responsible, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Malfoy's house-elves had been a little busy that morning.

Both Charlie and Oliver were resplendent in robes of ivory and gold, and as they stood before the celebrant and made their vows, even Harry felt himself choke up slightly. Molly Weasley, who clutched tightly to her husband's arm throughout, made no effort to hide her sobs. And even staid Hermione, who was by Harry's side, was heard to sniffle quietly.

The vows were moving, and as the length of golden rope twined its way around Charlie's and Oliver's interlocked hands, Harry couldn't help but think this was one tradition that the purebloods had got right. And that if he ever...well, this was how he'd want it to be.

The finishing touch to the ceremony took place as they made their way back towards the house to celebrate. Oliver's teammates, resplendent in all their Quidditch finery, swooped low over the crowd, treating them to an array of dives and equally dangerous moves. 

Harry stood and watched, his heart somewhere between his stomach and his mouth. He hadn't noticed when Malfoy slipped away, but clearly he had, because there was no mistaking the glint of sunshine on one particular flyer.

**********

"Harry, there you are."

Harry looked up from his drink just in time to see Ginny Weasley swaying precariously towards him. He reached out a steadying hand. "All right, Gin?" he asked, smiling. 

"Never mind me," she said impatiently, dropping into a vacant seat. "Why aren't you dancing with Malfoy?"

That stumped Harry for a moment and he decided that ignorance was his best line of defence. "Why would I be?" he asked, giving his best 'confused' expression.

Ginny's expression dropped. "So the wine didn't work then?" she asked sullenly.

"Oh, I don't know," Harry replied. "Malfoy was very impressed with the vintage."

Ginny looked up, something like hope in her eyes. "He was?"

Harry nodded. "He was—" Harry's words came to a halt as a sudden thought hit him. "Where did you get that wine from, Gin?"

Ginny toyed with her glass, refusing to make eye contact

Harry reached out and pulled it away. "Ginny?" The warning in his tone was obvious.

Ginny looked up. "I found it on the sideboard, you saw me." 

Harry's gaze never wavered. "You knew, didn't you?"

"About what?" Clearly Ginny had also decided on the ignorance defence.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to remain calm – now was not the time for him to set the windows rattling in their frames. "When you gave me that wine, you said it was George's, that he planned to give it to Charlie. You know why don't you? You know what George put in that bottle."

Ginny tried to hold his gaze defiantly, but couldn't manage it for long. Less than a minute later her head drooped slightly and she nodded in defeat. "Yes," she whispered. "I knew."

The glassware rattled as Harry's hand hit the table. "How could you be so thoughtless?" he hissed. "Do you have any idea of what you've done?"

Ginny looked back up now, confusion in her eyes this time. "But I don't understand," she said softly. "Obviously I was wrong, because you two are..." She gestured at the obvious distance between Malfoy and him. "So if nothing happened, I don't see why you're getting so worked up.” 

"Who said nothing happened?" Harry replied tightly, before taking a deep gulp of his drink.

Ginny rubbed at her face. "I'm confused," she admitted.

"It's quite simple, Gin," Harry replied nastily. "You drugged me and Malfoy into having sex with each other, and now he's avoiding me like the plague. I don't know if that was your plan exactly, but if it was, congratulations."

"You had sex with Malfoy?" Ginny sat forward in her seat, eyes wide with shock.

"Keep your voice down, will you," Harry snapped. "I'd rather this didn't make front page headlines." He took another swallow of his drink. "What did you think we'd do? Play gobstones all night?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I had my suspicions, obviously. But that's the thing with this potion, you just never know."

"What's the thing?" Harry asked, his brow creased with a deep frown. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, the potion," Ginny replied patiently. "If you and Malfoy hadn't had actual feelings for each other, then you probably _would_ have just played gobstones all night. It only works on an existing attraction. Didn't George tell you that?"

Harry shook his head, too confused by what he'd just learnt to come up with a response.

"Oh, Harry." Ginny leant forward and took hold of his hand. "And all this time you've been thinking...you have to know, I'd never do that to you."

Harry shrugged off her hand. "We'll talk about it later, Gin," he said, not unkindly this time. Harry pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "Maybe by then I'll have reason to be grateful for the interference."

**********

"Dance with me?" Harry sincerely hoped the lighting was dim enough in the ballroom that Malfoy couldn't see how his hand shook.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Malfoy replied shakily.

"Don't be so bloody miserable." Pansy gave Malfoy a nudge with her elbow. "You've been sat there like a troll with a sore arse all night; I'm sick of it. Now dance."

Pansy gave Malfoy a glare that was so reminiscent of the ones Hermione gave him, that Harry couldn't help but smile. Malfoy looked up just in time to catch him.

"I don't know what you've got to smile about, Potter," he grumbled, getting to his feet. "I've seen you on a dance floor, remember?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry replied affectionately. "I promise not to step on your delicate toes."

"I'll hold you to that," Malfoy muttered. Then as they reached the dance floor, he added, "Just one dance, and that's it. Okay?"

Harry sighed. "Whatever you say. Now can we just dance?"

Malfoy snorted. "I don't know. But let's give it a try anyway."

Without giving him another chance to object, Harry quickly placed his hands on Malfoy's hips. He looked intently at his partner until Malfoy huffed and then placed his own hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Was that really so painful?" Harry murmured as they began moving slowly to the music.

"My feet appear to be intact so far," Malfoy admitted grudgingly. "But there's still time yet."

Harry smiled and leaned in closer. "Do you have any idea of how hot you look right now?" he asked, knowingly repeating Malfoy's words of the night before.

Malfoy pulled back sharply, putting a little distance between them. "Have you been on that wine again, Potter?" he asked.

"Interesting thing about that potion," Harry said, as he pulled Malfoy back in close and held him there firmly. "Apparently it only works when there's an existing attraction between two people."

Malfoy's grip on Harry's shoulders tightened noticeably. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"I'm reliably informed," Harry said, sliding his hands inside Malfoy's robes discreetly, "that if you and I didn't already have feelings for one another, then the potion wouldn’t have affected us at all."

Malfoy's eyes widened impossibly. "You mean..."

"Yes," Harry confirmed, his eyes alive with amusement and something else altogether.

Malfoy's hand slid up to tangle in Harry's hair. "So you...?" he asked breathlessly.

"I do," Harry confirmed, his fingers now inching their way under Malfoy's shirt.

"You really shouldn't say things like that at a wedding, Potter," Malfoy teased, before he pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. "People will get the wrong idea."

**********


End file.
